Without You
by kaut
Summary: Grissom and Sara reflect on life without one another


**Disclaimer: I am a small fish. I own nothing.**

**Spoilers: I used the promo pics for the next CSI as part of the story.**

She was cold

She was cold. She hadn't been warm since she left. When she did manage to pull herself from her bed, she always wore sweaters. While in bed, she added more and more blankets, curled further into them and was still cold. At first, she thought it was the cooler, damper climate, but layer upon layer of sweaters and blankets couldn't heat her. She missed his warmth. On nights she dreamt about him, the warmth would return, but only momentarily. When she woke, alone, she was always colder than ever.

She laid, curled up, clutching her pillow. Tears fell freely from her eyes. Tears weren't new to her; she'd cried softly many times. She was an emotional person. However, she had always been stronger than the tears she shed. This time was different. These tears were different. They were debilitating. They took over her whole body, causing it to shake uncontrollably. She had to gasp for air as the sobs violently racked her body. She couldn't move, she couldn't breathe, she couldn't stop crying.

She clutched her pillow tighter, laying her head to rest on it. She forced herself to take slower breaths as she attempted to calm herself down. She ran her hand across her pillow, trying to imagine it wasn't a pillow she was resting her head on. She listened for a heartbeat, but heard only her own labored breathing. She laid her hand flat, wanting to feel the rise and fall of a chest as air moved in and out. She only felt the smooth texture of the fleece pillowcase. She sniffed the air, wishing she could smell the lingering scent he left behind when he rose out of bed in the morning. The only scent to reach her nose was the scent of the lemon scented laundry detergent used to wash the linens. She closed her eyes and dreamt of tasting him again. The tears fell to her lips and the only taste she was left with was the saltiness of her own tears. She searched her mind for glimpses of him, hoping to remember his soft smile and warm eyes. The only image that presented itself in her mind was the sight of him, standing in the lab, watching her walk away from him. She pictured his eyes. Instead of warmth, they were filled with confusion, concern and fear. She wanted to remember every sound, taste, scent, sight and feel of him, but they were stolen from her over time.

Throughout her journey, to bury her ghosts, she discovered she only succeeded in forming more ghosts. The ghost of her lover haunted her every dream. She could not bury him. Neither could she go back. She had said goodbye with such a finality she was sure he wouldn't be waiting, but rather trying to move on. It wasn't fair for her to return to him and expect him to let her back in after the way she had left him. Besides, she was still the same, still on the verge of a breakdown, if not closer to one than ever before.

There were times she would pretend he was around. She would tell him something about her past, a key to who she was, or what she was trying to fight. A few times, while laying on her bed, curled up in her blankets, she whispered, "I love you," into the air, willing him to hear it or feel it hundreds of miles away. When she dreamt of him, she imagined he was thinking about her.

Every night, as she cried herself to sleep, she wished he would find her, come after her, fight for her and take her home. Home, how odd was it that she still called the place they had shared only briefly, home. When she wrote her farewell letter to him, she'd wrote that she wouldn't trade the home they shared for anything, but now it felt as though she did. She'd traded it for the chance to find peace. The problem was, the peace was not coming.

Every night, she begged the phone to ring, signal to her that he still cared, still wanted her, maybe even loved her. She knew it wouldn't ring. She had done all of the calling, not giving him her contact info. She told him she didn't want him there, she couldn't break down in front of him. She'd asked him to respect her wishes and she knew he would. As much as she wanted, no needed, him to come, he wouldn't unless she asked. Asking someone for help, even the love of her life, was something she could never do. Instead, every night, she cried on her pillow and wished she could feel his warm arms surround her, hold her and comfort her the way he had done so many times before. It was the one memory she had of him that lingered in her mind and caused her to hold on to her belief that while he never actually told her he loved her, he still did, none-the-less.

As she thought about the comfort they had offered each other throughout there time together, she wondered who comforted him the night she left, or was he just as lonely and lost as she was that night. Did he tell anyone she left? Did he find someone else to make him happy? Do they comfort him now? Her body began to tremble again. She threw her pillow at the wall and rested her head on her arm, crossing the other arm over her chest and rested the clenched hand in the crook of her neck. The tears stopped abruptly. She stared down at her bent elbow and willed herself to sleep.

Sleep wasn't something she had ever done much of. As a child, the fighting and yelling down the stairs had kept her awake, hiding under her covers. She used to take a flash light and read under the covers until the house quieted down. Often, she'd get caught up in her book and read well into the night. After escaping into her stories for a while, she found she could get a few hours of sleep.

As adult, she was restless, sleeping only when her body absolutely needed it. She had been so used to surviving with very little sleep that her body didn't need much of it. She spent her extra hours working, absorbing new information and techniques for work, or agonizing over the cases where the evidence was either non-existent or not comprehensive enough for a conviction. She'd slept better with him, reveling in the feel of his arms around her for those few hours they slept. She didn't really sleep any more when she was with him, but her sleeps were more peaceful and she spent more time relaxing and a lot more time in bed. Now that she was alone again, she'd begun to sleep in short intervals, crying herself to sleep, waking, trembling, weeping, staring, then crying herself back to sleep again. She lost all of her energy. She'd lost the energy to fight months before, but lately, she'd lost the energy to get out of bed.

The hours Sara spent staring down at her bed or some part of her anatomy, were reserved for thinking. She thought about how she had always been seen as a strong one. She knew that children who came from abused homes rarely reached their potential, yet she did. She'd survived and dedicated herself to becoming a voice for the victim. She realized that in the process of becoming the voice for so many others, she'd lost her own voice, her strong voice, the voice of a survivor. If she did cave and beg Grissom to come and take her back, it would be a victim's voice and not hers. She needed to return to him with her own voice again.

She had never believed that there was one person for everyone. While she could be spiritual and believed in the soul, she wasn't sure that soul mates existed. Her belief system went right out the window when she met him. There was a connection that she couldn't explain. She loved him in a way she never imagined she could love anyone. Her heart ached for him. Immediately she knew that he was the only one for her. Time only strengthened that belief. The more she got to know him over time, the deeper she fell in love with him. The longer she was away from him, the more it hurt. Time does not, she discovered, heal all wounds. She would never get over him. She wanted to move on, but it was impossible. She was missing half of her soul.

He'd offered her forever. When he asked her to marry him, it meant forever. She'd accepted and she'd never enter into anything lightly either. It was supposed to be forever, but it all disappeared in the two minutes it took him to read her letter. So, with nothing else left, he buried himself in his work, wearing himself down to absolute exhaustion. He'd worked himself right into his sickbed.

He'd spent more time in the bed in the last twenty four hours than he had in the past four months. When he curled into the sheets, he tried not to think about the time he'd spent there with her, but it was impossible. Everything in the room reminded him of what they'd shared together. She'd picked out the color to paint the room, she picked out the furniture and there was a picture of her sitting on the dresser. He'd taken it when she had fallen asleep while reading on the sofa. She'd looked so beautiful and peaceful that he had to take the picture. After she left, it became a reminder of what he'd lost. Looking at it from his bed, he sighed, stood up and walked over to the dresser. He studied the picture a moment before flipping the picture down. He turned to go back to his bed, but stopped, picked up the picture and held it in his hands. He carried it back to the bed, running his fingers over it as he laid back down. He pulled the covers to his chest, still clutching the photo, and thought about her. He hoped she was doing alright. He hoped she was finding the happiness he failed to provide her.

A knock on the door shook him out of his revelry. Slowly, he stood up and placed the picture back on the dresser. He grabbed a robe and made his way to the door. Hank was sitting next to the door, waiting for him to open it. He knew the dog was waiting for her to come home, just as he'd spent the past four months doing. He opened the door slowly and saw Catherine.

Hank, uninterested in the visitor, walked into the living room and laid down. Grissom opened the door wide and allowed Catherine to enter. "Cath, what can I do for you?"

Catherine looked him over, shaking her head. "You have to testify in court today. Ecklie has been trying to call you."

"Since when do I ever answer Ecklie's calls?"

Catherine smiled. She studied him a moment and her smile dropped. Softly, she spoke, "I tried to call you."

Grissom closed the door behind Catherine. "I turned my phone off. I'm sick."

"I know," she smiled softly. "I wouldn't have come if they didn't need you to testify today. The DA asked for a recess, but he only got until four o'clock this afternoon. That gives you two and a half hours to get ready and be in court."

He sighed and turned. "I'll get my suit."

"Shower and trim your beard first," she called out after him, "I'll wait out here."

Grissom walked down the hall to the bathroom. He climbed in the shower and let the warm water run over him. He leaned against the side of the shower as the water washed over him. Her shampoo still sat in the tray next to his. He couldn't bear to throw it out. He hoped the water would wash away all the pain he felt in her absence. Four months without her, and things were not getting any easier. He missed her.

Catherine decided to take the opportunity to snoop around Grissom's house while waiting for him. The presence of a dog already surprised her. As she made her way into the living room, then the kitchen, she realized what a stark contrast this house was compared to the sterile atmosphere of his townhouse. She continued to snoop when some pictures on the fridge caused her to pause. An old one caught her attention. The image was of a younger Grissom and Sara, with the Golden Gate Bridge in the background. She picked it up and studied it, smiling to herself.

Grissom walked out of the bedroom with his suit half on. He found Catherine in the kitchen holding the picture of Sara and him. Sadness washed over his face. Catherine looked up at him and smiled warmly. "When was this taken? You look awfully young."

"About nine and a half years ago."

She looked down at the picture again. "Is that when you met?"

Grissom nodded. "It was the Forensic Academy Conference, in San Francisco."

"Have you heard from her?"

He shook his head. "Not for a month. She calls less and less, with greater intervals in between."

"And you don't call her?"

He shook his head again. "She calls from wherever she is, letting me know she's alright and letting me know what's going on. I don't know how to contact her. She doesn't want me to."

Catherine looked down at the picture than back up at him. "How long?"

"Since I met her."

"On and off? Is that why she almost left that one time?"

He looked up at Catherine and shook his head. "No, it took us seven years to finally get to the same place." He smiled and took the picture from Catherine's hands. He gazed down at it. "She was beautiful and so bright. She asked a million questions. She told me later she was trying to get the nerve to ask me to dinner. She never did. Instead, we walked all over the city and she just kept picking my brain. We eventually found a small bistro and had dinner there." He handed the picture back to Catherine.

"You're really in love with her, aren't you?"

He smiled sadly and began to fix his tie. "She's my perfect love."

Catherine grasped his hand and squeezed it softly. "We never realized. I'm really sorry, Gil." She placed the picture back on the fridge and looked at the more recent ones. One of them showed Sara smiling shyly while Grissom was looking at her with complete adoration. "You both looked happy."

"We were." He looked over at Catherine and sighed. "I was going to marry her. She said yes. Then, she left."

"I'm sure she wasn't leaving you. I think she just needed to get away for awhile. She's been through a lot recently."

"I know that Catherine." He turned away and ran his hand through his hair.

"Maybe she just needs time."

Maybe." He sighed. "I'm not sure anymore."

"She's stubborn, just like you. Neither of you could ever ask for help. She's not going to admit she needs help; she never has. She's probably afraid to phone you. You're both doing this all alone when you don't need to. You have us." Catherine stepped towards him and fixed his lapels. "You know, if she saw you in this suit, she'd never be able to resist you."

He smiled softly. "Thank You Catherine."

She squeezed his arm. "Yeah, well, lets get you to the courthouse. I'll drive. You're in no shape."

In the car, Grissom leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes. Catherine looked over at him. "You really aren't feeling well, are you?"

He shook his head.

"Well, the way you've been going, I'm surprised you aren't dead. You're burning yourself out." She paused and shook her head slowly. "Listen, don't take this the wrong way, but if you aren't going to go after her, then at least try to move on because the way you are going now isn't healthy."

He lifted his head from the window and stared straight forward. "I can't move on. She's too much a part of me. I love her, Catherine."

"Then go after her."

"She doesn't want that."

"No, you think she doesn't want that. She's scared. She's afraid to ask, afraid you won't come, so she won't ask. Look, at least let her know you love her. She's probably doubting everything just as much as you are." Grissom sighed. He laid his head back against the window and thought about what Catherine had said.

After court, Catherine dropped Grissom back off at his home. When he opened the door, Hank was sitting next to it, waiting in anticipation. Grissom bent down and patted his dog on the head. "Sorry boy, it's just me." He closed his door and walked to his room, shedding his tie along the way.

In his room, he freed himself of his suit and put on pajama pants and a t-shirt. He walked out into the kitchen and put on some water for tea. He looked at the fridge and took the picture that Catherine had been looking at earlier. He stared at it as he drank his tea.

Grissom began to reflect as he gazed at the picture in his hands. He never thought he'd need anyone the way he needed Sara. She'd been so much a part of his life, he felt as though life stopped the night she left. He went about the same motions everyday, only out of habit. He began to work with the same intensity that used to drive Sara. He no longer had distractions; work was his distraction. He no longer rode rollercoasters, even that experience wasn't the same after he had shared it with Sara. He needed her. He needed her back in his life. He sighed and placed his cup in the sink and the picture back on the fridge.

Laying in his bed, he opened a book of Romantic and Victorian poetry, hoping that Shelley or Keats, Tennyson or Browning could help him make some sense as to why he felt so utterly alone. He thought more about what Catherine had said to him. Maybe Sara was afraid he'd turn her away if she asked for help or self destructed in front of him. He knew she was trying to maintain control as she always had done. Maybe she felt as though she was losing all the control she had struggled to maintain for so many years. Maybe it was the struggle to maintain that control that was killing them and killing their chances of finding their way back to each other again. Maybe they both needed to lose control to finally heal.

Grissom sighed and sat up. He found the one phone number Sara had given him months ago. He turned on his cell phone and dialed. "Laura Sidle? This is Gil Grissom. I'm trying to locate your daughter, Sara." He paused as he listened to the voice on the other end. "Yes, I know she doesn't want to be found. No, it's not an emergency. I do need to get a message to her." He adjusted the cell phone and sighed. "I'm sorry, it's private."

Grissom got out of his bed and walked to his office, grabbing a pen and paper. "Look, can you just let me know if you know of a way to get a message to her without me finding out where she is? I respect her wishes not to be found. I don't want to find her. I just want to get a message to her."

"You'll see her in a couple days? Can I send something to you to give to her?" He began writing on the pad in his hands. "Great. Thank you." He hung up the phone and dialed another number. "Hi, I'd like to send some flowers to a girl. Her name is Sara Sidle. Send it to this address." He listed the address Sara's mom had given him, then gave the florist his credit card number. "Listen, how much room do you have on the cards?" He paused a moment. "Can you use your biggest card and write this, _Sara, I miss you. I know you are doing what you think you need to do. Please find a way back to me. I will wait for you./ Remember that day we had our picture taken by the Golden Gate Bridge? I am coming to San Francisco. I'll be there Tuesday and I'll wait all day at the spot we had our picture taken. If you want to see me, meet me there. If not, I'll understand and I'll go home and again wait for you to contact me._" He paused, "sign it, _Love Gil._"

He listened as the person on the other end recited what he'd said back to him. "Thank you. Can you deliver it on Sunday? Thanks." He hung up the phone and dialed one final number. "Hey Cath? I'm going to San Francisco." He smiled as Catherine spoke to him. His smile turned to a frown. "No, I don't know where she is, but I may have found a way to get a message to her. I'm going most of the way. I just hope she goes the rest." He smiled again. "Cath? Thanks."

He made sure he was bundled up and prepared for the chilly morning air before leaving the hotel. The damp air wouldn't help the cold he was still trying to get over. On his way out, he grabbed his book and a coffee to go. He headed to the place he hoped to meet Sara. He found a bench along the walkway, near where he and Sara had their picture taken. He sat down and sipped at his coffee. When he finished his drink, he opened his book and tried to concentrate on his reading, but found himself looking at every person who passed by, searching for her face. After a couple hours, he gave up on his reading and let himself watch the people walking along the walkway.

Around noon, he moved his book from his lap and placed it on the bench. He stood up, leaning against the path's rail. He looked out over the water and reminisced about the time he spent there with Sara. She'd hesitated before asking every question, as though she was afraid to ask him another or afraid he'd find her annoying. He had found her enduring. He closed his eyes and thought it was a dream when he heard the soft voice behind him tentatively speak his name. He turned and saw her standing with her arms wrapped around her waist, bundled up in a jacket and scarf, looking very unsure and very thin. "Sara." He breathed it out. Apart from getting out her name, he was speechless. Every sentiment he wanted to express flew from his brain. He stared at her, not moving.

He was staring at her and all she could do was stare back. She hadn't seen him for four months. He'd grown his beard back. He looked pale but still very handsome. His eyes had lost a lot of their sparkle, just as hers had months before. She debated coming and meeting him. As much as she needed to see him, she had been afraid to. After hours of debating, she ran out of her hotel room and raced to their meeting place. "I got your message." She had to choke it out, trying to break the uncomfortable silence.

He nodded.

"You look pale."

"I've been sick. You look thin." Sara's heart skipped a beat when he said he'd been sick. Her mind raced to the worst conclusions. He must have read her eyes because her was quick to reassure her. "Just a cold. I've had it for a week now."

She let out a sigh of relief and nodded. "You look good, apart from looking sick, I mean."

"Thanks. Can we sit?" He indicated the bench. They sat down on it with as much space between them as possible. He turned to her and smiled softly. "I missed you."

She nodded. "I missed you too."

Grissom folded his hands together and looked down at them. "I'm glad you came. I was afraid you weren't going to."

She nodded again and looked straight forward. "I almost never." She never noticed his smile fall. "I was afraid to come," she paused and looked at him, "I was more afraid that if I didn't come, I'd lose my chance with you forever."

He shook his head and moved closer to her. "No. No, you couldn't lose that. I wanted to see you. I still would have waited if you weren't ready to see me."

"I wanted to see you too." She smile weekly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I put you through all this."

"Sara, don't. You did what you had to do." He paused and studied her. "Are you getting anywhere?"

She shook her head. "No. I've added new ghosts." She laughed. "Now it's the memory of you that haunts me."

"What? Sara, I'd never hurt you."

"I know. It's the memory of your scent or the way you would hold me. I dreamt of you every night, then every morning, I woke up alone and cold."

"I know." He cupped her cheek. "I haven't had a decent sleep since you left. Everything reminds me of you."

Tears began to form in Sara's eyes. "Gil, I'm sorry."

He shook his head and dropped his hand. He looked down. "Sara, are you going to come back to me?"

"Yes." She said it quickly, then sighed. "If you'll take me back. I need you."

"I need you too. Life wasn't living without you." He turned back to her and brushed the tears from her eyes. "I was thinking, maybe we need to lose control and break down to move on. Breaking down in front of me wouldn't be the worst thing, Sara. I'd see you at your lowest, sure, but I'd also get to see you pick yourself back up. I'd get to see you at your strongest. We can get through this together."

Sara nodded and bit her lip. "I realized that I couldn't do this alone months ago. Before I met you, I could have, but not now, not anymore. I need you." She paused and placed her hand on top of his. "I couldn't ask you for help though. It's not fair to you. You deserve a chance to be happy."

"I'm not happy without you. I manage to exist without you, but that's all."

Sara smiled and closed the space between them. His arm came around her shoulders. She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, breathing in his scent and committing it to her memory again. The breeze off the water picked up. She felt him tighten his hold on her and run his hand up and down her arm. She tilted her head up. He kissed her softly. She smiled and stood, extending her hand down to pull him up.

She led him to a cable car. He led her to his hotel room. He kissed her softly at the door, deeply once inside the room and passionately as he made love to her. Afterwards, he held her in his arms and kissed her temple gently. He held her as she cried over her ghosts and her nightmares. She stroked his back and comforted him as he mourned their lost months and he told her how afraid he was each time he nearly lost her. When he woke, she was wrapped around him and her hand was resting on his heart. He smiled. When she woke, his arms were enfolding her and her senses were filled with him again. They both felt a little happier, a little warmer and a little less alone. Their souls felt a little more at peace.


End file.
